Picture Perfect
by AngelisIgniRelucent
Summary: Kurt's at home. Well, it's not really home yet, but he's at his new apartment, wondering why he's doing this to himself, until he remembers it's because he's nothing if not a masochistic bastard. KLANGST, FUTUREFIC, BASED ON 'I NEED YOU NOW' BY LADY ANTEBELLUM, 2-SHOT
1. Picture Perfect

**Some lovely Klaine angst – based on 'I Need You Now' by Lady Antebellum because it's been stuck in my head for a week.**

Kurt's at home. Well, it's not really _home_ yet, but he's at his new apartment, wondering why he's doing this to himself, until he remembers it's because he's nothing if not a masochistic bastard. He looks around at the scattered photo albums, wincing every time he catches a glimpse of bright hazel eyes, crinkling at the corners, a mop of messy black curls, a smile so wide it splits his face in half, which is funny really, because pretty much every single photograph makes him flinch. His hand reaches out, unasked, clutching at the phone. He forces himself to drop it for the twelfth time that night and wonders what Blaine's doing for the nineteenth. He thinks his name for the fifty-third time that night, but it doesn't hurt any less.

*o*o*

Blaine's sitting on the floor, drinking. He briefly considers pouring himself another shot of whisky, but ends up just grabbing the bottle with clumsy, too-thick fingers, tipping it back, relishing in how it sets fire to his insides, but cursing how it doesn't make him forget. He looks at the door for the twenty-sixth time that night and slams his palm down on the granite top for the thirty-first when it doesn't move. He can picture him, so vividly that his drunken mind almost thinks it's real, sweeping in through the door like he's done countless times before. He forces himself to look away for the twelfth time that night and wonders what Kurt's doing for the nineteenth. He thinks his name for the fifty-third time that night, but it doesn't hurt any less.

*o*o*

Kurt glances at the clock, back to the phone. No, it's too late, he'll be asleep, he tells himself, but he hopes he's not, he hopes he's awake, staring at the phone too. He dials the number without even thinking, pressing the phone to his ear, finger poised over the end button and listens. _I'm sorry, but the number you are trying to reach is busy. Please try again or leave a message after the tone_.  
"Blaine, I- I know I said I wouldn't call, I just- I lost control and- I'm sorry, Blaine, I just- I need you now-" and he sighs when the beep cuts him off, not even bothering to hide or try and stop the tears from spilling down his face because, hey, who's going to see?

*o*o*

Blaine blinks blearily at the flashing numbers on the oven, trying to discern the time. It's late. Too late to call. But his inebriated mind tells himself that _he's_ probably up too, so he lunges for his phone, dialling the all-too-familiar number wrong a few times with his clumsy fingers, pressing the phone to his ear, finger poised over the end button, and listens. _I'm sorry, but the number you are trying to reach is busy. Please try again or leave a message after the tone_. "Kurt, I- I know I said I wouldn't call, I just- I'm a little drunk and- I'm sorry, Kurt, I just- I need you now-" and he throws the phone to the floor when the beep cuts him off, grabbing the bottle, not even bothering to tell himself he shouldn't because, hey, who's going to know?

*o*o*

It's hours and a fitful not-really sleep later that Kurt notices his phone flashing. _You have one voicemail, received today at one fifteen a.m. "Kurt, I-" _He hangs up.

*o*o*

It's the whole night, half the following day and too many aspirins later that Blaine notices his phone, half smashed, but still flashing at him. _You have one voicemail, received today at one fifteen a.m. "Blaine, I-"_ He throws the phone across the room, not even flinching as it shatters against the wall.

*o*o*

I was tired and a little crazy, Kurt says to himself, and he was probably drunk. It doesn't change anything. _It doesn't change that I still need you._

*o*o*

I was drunk as fuck, Blaine says to himself, and he was probably just tired. It doesn't change anything. _It doesn't change that I still need you._

**Um, sorry? Yeah… thoughts?**


	2. I'd Rather Hurt Than Feel Nothing At All

**Oh look - I'm back! Ok, idk where this came from, but whatever. The first bit is set after the first chapter, but the italics bit is set before - flashback or what have you... :)**

"Oh! Kurt, I-"

"Oh! Blaine, I- oh, you go first."

Kurt's hand is still in the air where it was poised to knock, Blaine's still on the door handle.  
"Uh, come in?" Blaine says, wincing at how eager he sounds, but unable to regret it.

"Wow, i-"  
"So how co-" They both pause, blush, almost marveling at the abundance of an awkwardness that never used to exist between them.  
"_You_ go first."  
"Oh, I was just going to ask how come you were going to knock? I mean, you have a key ..."  
"I didn't want to intrude." Kurt's studying the threads of the worn carpet, even though he nows them like the back of his hand - better, even - like the back of _Blaine's_.  
"This is still your home, Kurt. It always will be." The intensity of his tone makes Kurt's head drop even further. "I mean, if you want it to be."  
"I do," Kurt says too-quickly, wincing at how eager he sounds.  
"Really?" And Blaine's honey-gold eyes are shining with love and fear and _hope_.

A small nod is all it takes , and it feels like they're taking their vows all over again.

"Are you sure?" says Blaine, because what if-  
"Yes." His voice is soft, but firm. "I mean, I know you- and then I ... and then we both ... but _anything _is better then the nothing you leave behind."  
And Blaine's crying now, clenching his hands at his sides, not sure if he's allowed to hug him or not.  
Kurt watches him cry and clenches his hands at his sides, not sure if he's allowed to hug him or not, but then he thinks 'screw it' and hugs him anyway.

They still fit together like they used to.

Blaine pulls away too soon.  
"I didn't want to ruin your shirt," he offers by way of explanation. Kurt lets out a watery chuckle.

They still know each other like they used to.

"I was going to say 'wow it's a mess in here'."  
"What?"  
"Before, when we kept speaking at the same time - that's what I was going to say."  
"Oh."

Blaine blushes the same the same tomato red as always, and Kurt finds it as endearing as ever.

"It's okay - I'll help you clear it up."

*o*o*

_"Come on, Kurt - we're going to be late!"  
Blaine's standing by the door, just putting the finishing touches on his hair in the hall mirror, straightening his bow-tie.  
"Late for _what_?! Hanging out with your stupid _friends_?!" Kurt's stomping across the flat in yoga pants, hair still a mess._

Blaine thinks he looks beautiful. Angry, but beautiful.

"Hey, come on, now - it's only for tonight! It's Chad's birthday - you like Chad! And there'll be karaoke ..."  
"In case you forgot_, my singing isn't_ good enough._" His voice is like acid.  
"Kurt-"  
"Don't you_ Kurt _me! I hate your stupid friends and that stupid bar and stupid karaoke! And it's not just tonight - we do it all the time! And-"  
"Hey - I don't care much for your friends either, but I don't complain. I let them treat me like a dumb animal because it makes_ you _happy."  
"Well why_ don't _you complain? Why don't we _tell _each other these things? Oh yeah - because this is a fucking dysfunctional relationship where we both fucking _pretend _that we're still 16 and in love. Because you act like a child-"  
"Only because your pretentious fashion friends treat me like one! Their heads are so far up their own asses they can't even see what's right in front of them - maybe that's why their designs are such shit! And_ you_?! You're just one of them."_

Blaine sees it - the exact moment Kurt snaps - and he thinks he looks beautiful. Angry, but beautiful.

Then Kurt slaps him, the back of his hand connecting solidly with Blaine's cheek, the smack echoing loudly through the silent apartment, and he can't think of anything except denial. He didn't, he tells himself. Or, at least, he didn't mean _to. Or-_

"Hit me back." His soft voice is deafening after the screaming and the silence. Blaine simply stares. "Fucking hit me back, you coward_!" And he's screaming again. Blaine winces at 'coward' - he's heard that one too many times before. "Oh, sorry, am I too fucking_ pretentious_ for you to hit me back?! Is my head too far up my own _ass _for you to hit me back?! Because you sure weren't complaining when _you_ were there last night! Oh, but sorry - I'm too much of a fashion student for you to fuck me - why don't you go find a _singer_ to fuck?! Because I'm _not one, _and that's all you've ever really wanted, isn't it? Someone that I _wasn't-_"  
_"_Well, you know what?_" _Blaine's voice is quiet, but the anger makes it tremble - makes his whole body tremble. "Maybe I will. Hey,_ Chad_'s a pretty good looking guy ..."_

Kurt's eyes go from blazing to cold_ in a split second._

"I'm leaving," is all he says, but Blaine can hear all the ice of a New York winter in his voice.  
"Well fuck off_ then."_

_As soon as Kurt passes the doorman he lets the tears pour out.  
Blaine doesn't even wait for the door to shut before he's trying to flood the flat with his tears. That way, maybe he could drown his sorrows, or himself - one or the other - he's not fussed._

_Kurt's flicking through old photo albums, wandering why he's doing this to himself. He glances at the phone, looks away.  
Blaine's gone straight to the bottle, like the answer's written at the bottom of it. He glances at the phone, sighs, takes another swig._

**Wow it feels good to write after 2 freaking months! I hope you enjoyed that :D**


End file.
